


Surfacing

by mylittleweirdo



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6562336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylittleweirdo/pseuds/mylittleweirdo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred is trapped in a battle for control of her own body, and has to watch as Wesley is torn apart by her apparent death and the presence of Illyria.</p>
<p>This is a repost from FanFiction.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I started a few years ago (late 2013) that I'm still working on. I originally wasn't going to post it on here but my friend was setting up my Tumblr and encouraged me to repost here since my Tumblr has a link to my AO3 profile. So that's what I'm doing! I don't feel like taking the time to copy all the original chapter notes and publishing dates, but if you want to see any of those they're all on the original post over on FF.net (same pen name and fic title). The only difference between this version and my original post is a few minor spelling and grammar fixes. There were some wording and style things I desperately wanted to change, but it didn't feel right to use this repost as a do-over. Any updates after Chapter 9 will be posted the same time as on FF.net
> 
> I don't get the chance to update this story very often, but I promise I'm not going to abandon it. I will finish it eventually, it may take a while.
> 
> Comments, both positive and (constructive) criticism, are always welcome!

"Please. Wesley, why can't I stay?"

The words are ripped from her, torn out to be hurled across the laboratory at him. Fred watches, in her body but not in it. Watches as the words come out of a mouth that used to be hers. She tries to fight, to hold them in her soul, her essence, whatever is left of who she is. But the effort is wasted. She hears her voice, and sees the words hit Wesley with the force of a train.

Wesley reels from the impact, staggers, cries out.

"No!"

He turns away, but Fred is nowhere and everywhere. She can still see his face. She is not spared even that. The anguish, the utter despair in Wesley's expression, it's more than she can bear. She fights harder, trying to find some way to surface, to get past the being that has taken her hostage, body and soul.

But it is all for naught. The thing, Illyria, has complete and utter control. At the sound of Wesley's voice it stops, puzzled, no longer tearing words from Fred's memories. A small comfort.

"Leave," Wesley implores.

Fred wishes desperately that it would listen. Illyria's presence is tearing Wesley apart, and she doesn't want to watch any longer. How she wishes she could stay with him forever, but she is tied to this thing, this demon housed in her body, and for her to stay it must, too. She struggles, tries to compel Illyria to heed his words.

Again, nothing.

"I have nowhere to go! My kingdom is long dead! Long dead."

Illyria's voice is strained, desperate almost. Fred feels a moment of sympathy for the creature. She knows what it is to feel lost, to be thrust suddenly into a world she doesn't know. Fred's essence stills, stopping her fruitless struggle for the time being. She watches as Wesley listens to Illyria's words, his face a mask of pain.

"There's, so much I don't understand. I've become... overwhelmed. I'm unsure of my place," Illyria says, its voice is tinged with despair.

Wesley whips around.

"Your place," he bites out, "is with the rest of your people! Dead, and turned to ash."

His anger, the darkness bubbling out of him, it scares Fred. It's been so long since she's seen him his way. She had hoped she never would again. To think, that she is causing this…

Illyria stares at Wesley, and Fred can feel the anger bubbling within it. She is afraid that it will strike Wesley, kill him for his outburst. She can't bear watching her body being used to destroy the man she loves. Remembering how Angel tried to control his demon while in Pylea, she forgoes fighting and tries a different tact. Fred throws as many calming and peaceful emotions as she can muster at Illyria, hoping to temper it's fury and somehow prevent the massacre she feels coming.

"Perhaps," Illyria says calmly, reasonably, the tone a stark contrast to the unbridled fury that had been boiling inside it a moment before.

Fred is shocked by the reply. She isn't sure if it was her efforts, or if Illyria is merely weary from the shock of finding the world so different from how she had left it. Either way, it is as if someone flipped a switch and Illyria's anger is all but gone.

Wesley stares, almost as surprised as Fred, his anger also quelled for the time being. Seeing that it has his attention, Illyria continues.

"But I exist here."

Illyria's voice has lost most of it's power and bravado. Wesley's face softens a fraction, a bit of empathy for this lost creature working it's way into his mind. This is one of the many reasons she loves him, Fred thinks to herself. His heart is bigger and kinder than even he knows. Seeing him like this, broken but still caring, it breaks her heart.

Illyria takes a few steps forwards.

"I'll need your help. Wesley."

At the sound of his name, said in a voice so much like that of the woman he loves, Wesley's face starts to crumple, contorting with the torrent of emotions struggling to take hold of him. His answer is softer, more resigned.

"If I were to help you find your way, you have to learn to change."

Illyria tilts its head, not understanding.

"You mustn't kill," Wesley explains, like a schoolteacher dealing with an unruly child.

"You killed the Qua'hazan. In defiance of your leader," Illyria replies, a touch of it's old defiance back.

"He murdered the woman I love," Wesley chokes out, anger creeping back into his voice.

Illyria nods in understanding.

"And that made it just."

"No," Wesley replies quickly, voice cracking with despair. "It wasn't just."

Fred watches Wesley's body droop, sagging resignedly at the horror his life is slowly becoming. She can see, now, what the outcome of this encounter will be, and knows that Wesley will be destroyed by it. She tries again to make Illyria leave, to force it to let Wesley be, let him work through his grief instead of making the choice she knows he is about to make.

She may as well be trying to move a mountain.

"I'm probably the last man in the world to teach you what's right," Wesley says, looking at Illyria with a mixture of pity and trepidation. Illyria takes a few more steps towards him.

"But you will. If I abide. You will help me."

Wesley's reply comes out in a whisper.

"Yes."

 _No!_ Fred cries out.

Illyria studies Wesley, processing his answer.

"Because I look like her?"

Wesley blinks, holding back tears.

"Yes," he says, barely audible.

Fred lets out a sob that nobody hears. _Oh Wesley. Sweet, kindhearted Wesley._

He would do anything for her, for any small part of her, the shell of her, even if it destroys him. She tries to scream, to tell him to go, to move on with his life, but nobody can hear her. And deep down, a small, selfish part of her is glad, happy that she will see him still. A part of her hopes that maybe, just maybe, she'll be able to find a way to break through, to make it back to him.

Illyria turns, walks over to the rail. It looks out over Fred's laboratory, down at the sarcophagus that had held it prisoner for millennia.

"We cling to what is gone," it says. "Is there anything in this life but grief?"

Wesley comes to stand beside Illyria, looking down at the lab.

"There's love," he answers, his voice dull, empty, as if he, too, has become a shell. Illyria stands beside him, taking in what he is saying, offering no opinion for once.

"There's hope," he continues. "For some. There's hope that you'll find something worthy. That your life will lead you to some joy. That after everything, you can still be surprised."

After a pause Illyria stirs.

"Is that enough?" it asks, looking up at Wesley. "Is that enough to live on?"

Wesley turns and looks at it, studying what used to be Fred's face. Then, without a word, he turns and walks out of the laboratory, leaving Fred alone with Illyria.

Fred wishes she could cry, feel the warm comfort of tears running down her face. The sadness at seeing Wesley so broken, it rips at her, shredding what is left of her being. When she'd had a body she would have thrown herself down and sobbed for hours. Instead she fights, pummelling the essence of Illyria, throwing herself against it in vain. Screaming into the void.

Finally, after several minutes, she becomes weary, emotionally exhausted, and ceases her metaphysical assault.

_Are you done now?_

Fred is dumbfounded. The words come from Illyria, but their body's mouth doesn't move. Instead the words float into Fred's mind, felt as much as heard.

_Do not think you can fight me. I am the only one in control. You are here only because I allow it._

_Then why didn't you hurt Wesley when you wanted to? Why do you acknowledge me now?_ Fred screams into the nothingness.

 _Because it suited me,_ Illyria states dismissively. _Do not flatter yourself that it had anything to do with you. Now be gone. I've had enough of your wailing for today._

Fred feels her essence suddenly and forcefully being pulled back down, being smothered beneath Illyria. She screams, claws for the surface. But Illyria is relentless, pushing her down, hiding her away in a dark corner of what used to be Fred's brain. Fred feels herself being compressed, like she is being sucked into a box too small to hold her. She cries out for Wesley, but with a final shove Illyria tucks her away, not gone, but hidden, where she no longer has conscious thought or action. Keeping her there until it finds use for her again.

As Illyria turns to leave the laboratory, a whimper escapes unbidden from it's lips, and a tear rolls down it's cheek.

"Wesley."


	2. Chapter 2

In the split second that Illyria loses control of its emotions, Fred's soul bursts from its cerebral confinement and becomes conscious again. Fred gasps, disoriented by the suddenness of returning to the world. She finds herself trapped in her body, no longer floating outside of it as she was the last time. She can sense Illyria's presence in there with her, tangled with hers, the space too small to accommodate the two of them. She can feel Illyria's thoughts and emotions, the pure, unadulterated rage. It frightens her.

Fred struggles, to little effect, to separate Illyria's emotions from her own, fighting against their power. The more her own anger grows at her inability to escape, the more she seems to overlap with Illyria, the more she becomes part of its essence. She can feel Illyria's unbridled fury and overwhelming desire to destroy, crush, snap the fragile structure in her grip. It's blinding and disorienting. She fights against the feeling, becoming angry, but it only strengthens her bond with Illyria. Fred can feel Illyria's power singing through her own veins, strength her body never possessed when it was hers and hers alone. It's intoxicating. She can feel the power in her grip, can sense that she need only twitch a muscle and the life in front of her will be snuffed out.

With a start Fred realizes that the delicate thing in Illyria's hand, in her hand, is Wesley's neck. Illyria looks into Wesley's eyes, and what Fred sees there shocks her. The passion, the brilliance, all of it is gone, burned away by despair and too much whiskey. Even now, teetering on the brink of death as he is, there is nothing. No spark or will to live, to fight back and save himself. He's lost all desire for anything this world has to offer, an empty husk, so little left of the man Fred loved. Loves.

Fred suddenly snaps back to herself, and is horrified at the power that she nearly let consumed her.

Illyria's grip starts to tighten on Wesley. Fred can see it, feel it, the bones straining beneath her grasp, so fragile. She can feel the life that is about to end and worries that he will die without ever knowing she's still here, still loves him.

_No! You can't! I love him! Wesley, I love you, please! Fight back! Just FIGHT BACK! I love you!_

Fred suddenly finds herself in control of her body, and with a start she twists away from Wesley. Her control lasts for only a moment before Illyria yanks it back. Enraged at being caught off guard, it tries to lock Fred back into the dark and constricting hole in their mind.

Fred panics, desperate not to go back to that place, to where she is nothing. Not when she's so close, when she had almost made it back to Wesley. She wants to exist. She can't go back to that place.

Panicked, she pleads with Illyria.

"It's too small! It's too small, I can't breath!"

With a start Fred realizes that her words are coming out of Illyria's mouth. Both of them are feeling the same terror, the same claustrophobia. They're feeling each other's feelings and hearing each other's thoughts. She struggles to establish which emotions are hers and which are those of Illyria.

They restlessly pace the room, together, anxiety levels rising in each of them, amplifying each other's panic.

"How do you live with these walls? I can't breath! There's no room for anything real!" they say.

"It's alright," Wesley says, trying to calm Illyria.

Fred tries to seize this opportunity to talk to Wesley, to let him know that she's still there, but his voice has a calming effect on Illyria and it regains some more of it's control. It bats Fred aside like a fly. When it talks again, the words are all Illyria.

"I should gut you where you stand!" it spits out. "You challenge me."

Illyria is talking as much to Fred as to Wesley. It pushes Fred away, trying to expel her from their body.

 _Get out, human!_ Illyria commands, talking into the space only Fred can hear. _This shell no longer belongs to you. It is mine to use as I please. Be gone so I can destroy your pitiful race without your sorry attempts to challenge my power._

Fred is furious that this creature, this demon, would take over her body and threaten to destroy all she holds dear. That it would treat her as little more that a flea, something to be brushed away and forgotten. This is her body, and she deserves to live in it. No demon, ancient or otherwise, can change that.

 _You think that was a challenge?_ Fred says fiercely. _Try to hurt my Wesley again and I'll show you a challenge, bitch!_

Fred hears Illyria sneer, feels the body tense to go at Wesley again. She isn't able to get back the control she'd enjoyed for a moment, but just the same Fred throws everything she has into making everything Illyria does difficult. She occupied this body for years before Illyria stole it away from her, knows it better than anyone, and she uses that against the demon now. She claws at Illyria's hold on her body, pulling, pushing, making Illyria fight for every word, every motion, undermining everything it tries to do. As she does she feels herself slipping slowly back into the demon, feel its strength becoming her strength, its anger fuelling her fight. As their shared anger fuses them together, Illyria is fighting as much against itself as Fred.

"There's not enough space to open my jaws," Illyria continues, and Fred can feel it battle for every breath. "My, face is not my face I don't know what, what it will say." Illyria chokes on the words, fighting against Fred, every syllable a struggle to get out. Its movements are jerky and strained.

"Illyria. Come with me." Wesley's voice, so even, so calming. Both Fred and Illyria pause, lulled by his voice, the soothing sound dispelling their anger. There's a silent power about him, something neither Fred nor Illyria can resist. He moves towards the door, his eyes never leaving Illyria's face, wary. As her anger subsides, Fred feels her essence separating again from Illyria's.

Fred is exhausted. The mental fight took a lot out of her, more than she expected. She can feel that Illyria does not intend Wesley any harm at the moment, under his spell as it is, so she allows Illyria control of their body, unchallenged for the time being, until she can regroup.

Too quickly she realizes her mistake. Illyria has recovered much faster than she expected. With a violent shove it locks Fred's soul away, and again all she is is dark nothingness, save for one final image of Wesley's haunted, hollow expression burned into her mind.


	3. Chapter 3

_Nothingness. For years. Minutes. Centuries. She can't tell; she doesn't exist._

_But if she doesn't exist, how can she be thinking this? How am I thinking this?_

A point of bluish light appears, tiny, or very far away; here, in the middle of nothing, it's difficult to tell. Cracks appear, spreading out from the point in jagged lines like lightning in slow motion. The light intensifies, becomes blinding, filling the oppressive emptiness around her, bringing her back to herself. It starts to pulse, and with every pulse comes memories, flashing faster and faster, a lifetime of moments happening all at once.

_Running in the grass, chubby baby fists outstretched towards a smiling man. A toppled bicycle, a skinned knee, and a woman kissing it better. A toy rabbit named Feigenbaum. A circle of children pushing her down, calling her names and breaking her glasses._

_A sea of faces, a bright spotlight, thunderous applause, and a plaque in her hands. Sitting in a car, a group of friends, laughing, a haze of bluish smoke around her. A boy, leaning in and kissing her, lifting her shirt over her head._

_A world with two suns and a cave where she hides from fearsome creatures. A handsome man, come to save her._

_Fights with demons, surrounded by friends. A baby boy asleep in her arms. A wall of fire and a passionate kiss._

_A cloud of dust. A burning sickness._   
_Pain. Death._

And finally, the face of a man, once handsome and full of life, now aged a thousand years with despair.

_Wesley._

* * *

Fred collapses to the floor with a whimper. She lays there on the cool hardwood of the training room, head bent, hair hanging around her face like a curtain. Blue hair.

With a start she remembers. Illyria. She searches her mind for Illyria's presence and finds it. It is a shadow of what it once was. The demon that once took over her body and locked her in the recesses of her own brain, while still a formidable power by any earthly standards, is now reduced to a wretched and pitiful heap. Tentatively, she reaches for it.

_Be gone, human, before I end you once and for all._ Illyria speaks with as much hostility as it can muster.

_If you could get rid of me,_ Fred snaps back, _you would have done it long ago. So don't bother. You don't frighten me._

Illyria stays quiet, cowering like a wounded tiger, and Fred almost feels sorry for snapping at it.

"Illyria?"

Wesley's voice. Fred's heart leaps with joy, and she tries to go to him. Instead, it is Illyria who turns their head to look up at him, and who's voice comes from their mouth.

"Touch me and die, vermin!"

Wesley stands over them, Angel beside him, holding some kind of device. A muscle in his face twitches slightly, and Fred knows. A small part of him had held out hope that maybe it would bring her back. Fred tries to make her face smile or talk, something to show Wesley that she is there, but Illyria just drops their head back to look at the floor. Fred slumps with defeat. Even in it's weakened state, Illyria has the control, and she's simply along for the ride. She considers fighting back, but she can't do it, not now. The creature in her body seems so beaten down and helpless, she can't bring herself to beat it down any further. She'd always been the sensitive one.

"Not a very dramatic difference, really."

Spike's voice, the ever-present touch of sarcasm making Fred smile slightly.

"Everything is different," Wesley replies gravely.

Wesley and the others leave the room then, leaving Illyria alone to come to terms with it's new situation. Fred stays quiet a while, letting the wretched creature grieve. It is Illyria that breaks the silence.

_I liked it better when they were all dead and I was a titanic crater in your world,_ Illyria laments.

_How dare you?!_ Fred replies. _After everything they have done for you! They gave you a place to stay, they were patient with you, taught you things. What do you think would have become of you had they not been there to help you?_

_Do not pretend to speak as my better, shell!_ Illyria snaps back, voice dripping with disdain. _It is your body that was too weak to contain my full power. And it is your precious Wesley who sucked that power away from me, selfishly reducing me to this._

_It was Wesley who saved you!_ Fred shoots back. _When they found out you were going to explode, he didn't destroy you, or send you off to die alone in a place where you wouldn't hurt anyone but yourself. No! He kept you here, putting everyone at risk so that maybe he could find a way to save you. And he did. You should be grateful._

_I never wanted this,_ Illyria snarls. _I never wanted his help. It would have been better for everyone if I had been allowed to die! Now I am nothing, all because I have your face and it makes Wesley care!_

Fred can feel her lungs heaving, breathing heavily after the outburst. Illyria is unused to any human limitations, to fatigue. All her muscles feel weary, like she just ran a marathon. Illyria cannot even make their body summon the strength to stand, though it tries. After a pause, Fred speaks up.

_Why didn't you kill us when you had a chance?_ she asks, without any hint of challenge or accusation. It's a long time before the demon answers. Their breathing slows, evens out. Illyria relaxes somewhat, a tinge of despair and hopelessness colouring it's aura.

_I do not know,_ it answers. _I- I couldn't. I- didn't want to._

_Why?_ Fred asks gently.

Illyria is silent. Fred can feel the mix of emotions swirling in it, the anger, the hate, the coldness and unfettered narcissism. But for the first time she feels something else, a shred of something softer, more familiar, more human.

Together they look up. Through the window of the training room they see Wesley, his face grey, his eyes lifeless.

Illyria finally speaks, it's voice wavering with uncertainty.

_I felt…_

It trails off. They watch Wesley a moment longer, before fatigue weighs too heavily on their body and their head droops back to the floor.

_Thank you,_ Fred says softly, her voice thick with emotion.

They stay like that for a long time, quietly sharing their broken body in wary but companionable silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Illyria runs their hand miserably over some plants in the lobby of Wolfram & Hart. People bustle past them without so much as a glance; Illyria's become a common, if gloomy, sight these last few days, and it's odd tendencies no longer surprise anyone.

Fred is getting tired of it, this front row seat to Illyria's pity party. The moping, the wandering aimlessly through the halls. It was fine for the first day. Even on the second and third day she could tolerate it. She understands better than most what it's like to have something that was a part of you torn away suddenly. But it has been over a week since Wesley shot Illyria with the Mutari generator. It's time to at least try to move on.

"I can no longer hear the song of the green," Illyria laments. It looks down at the plants, stroking them gently.

Fred scoffs. _Oh please! I can't even use my own body without entering into cerebral Mortal Kombat with you, and you're complaining about PLANTS?! This is getting pathetic._

Illyria ignores her, tilts their head, listening to something behind them. Fred hears Wesley's voice, talking to someone.

"Her powers have been greatly reduced. She still has an unusual level of strength but is no longer invulnerable or able to alter time." His voice is bland, clinical. He talks as if Illyria can't hear, though Fred is certain he knows it can.

Illyria answers without turning. "You revel in my defeat."

_Does that really sound like the voice of a man rejoicing? He saved you, but God forbid you show even a bit of gratitude._ Fred would roll her eyes if she could.

"Is that how you view it?" Wesley asks. "You've been defeated?"

Illyria turns their head slightly, not looking right at Wesley. Out of the corner of their eye Fred sees him, his stormy eyes watching Illyria carefully. Lorne is beside him, lurking nervously behind a potted plant. His outfit isn't as brightly coloured as usual, a simple white suit and sky blue shirt, but even that seems at odds with his melancholy demeanour. Even this early in the day he's nursing a drink, a large tumbler filled with an unidentifiable amber liquid.

"My world gone. My power stripped. How would you define it?" Illyria says accusingly. It walks away from the plant it had been stroking. The receptionist doesn't even look up as it passes by her desk. Wesley follows, somber, a few steps back, watching Illyria closely. Lorne follows gingerly a step behind.

"Uh, I don't know." Lorne replies, sarcastic. "How about lucky we didn't kill you when you went nuclear?"

_Thank you! That's what I've been saying!_ Fred says, forgetting for a moment he can't hear her. Illyria stops and turns to face the two men. It looks directly at Wesley as it answers.

"This fate, is worse than death," it says. "Condemned to live out existence in a vessel incapable of sustaining my true glory." Wes and Lorne listen, patient. Fred doesn't think they'd be so tolerant if they had no way to escape its constant melodrama.

_Yeah, cause whining is really glorious, Illyria._ Fred scoffs. _You could give me my body back and just die if that's what you really want. Then everyone would be happy._

Illyria bristles at Fred's words and starts to form a sharp reply, but it dies un-uttered in its thoughts. It turns away from Wesley and Lorne so they won't see the hurt look cross its features.

_I, I do not want to die. I am afraid of becoming nothing, but-_

"-how am I to function with such limitation?" Illyria finishes out loud, realizing that the two men are waiting for it to continue.

_I managed just fine,_ Fred retorts, but her voice has lost its edge. She can't begrudge anything the will to live, certainly not in her current state.

Behind them, Lorne chuckles. "Have you ever tried a Sea Breeze?" he asks sarcastically, gesturing to his drink.

Even Fred is annoyed by his flippancy. Lorne hasn't exactly been the poster boy for handling bad situations well. Sure Illyria's moping is annoying, but there's no need to make fun of it.

Illyria whirls and advances on Lorne, predatory. "You attempt amusement at the expense of your better," it growls. It's muscles tense, ready to lash out. Fred doesn't try to stop it; she herself wouldn't mind giving Lorne a piece of her mind, and maybe a smack upside the head will help stall his recent descent into alcoholism. But Wesley steps between them before the situation can escalate.

"Illyria," he says, his voice full of a quiet power. Illyria halts its advance, tilts their head. "Perhaps you should return to the lab?" he continues, not really asking.

Illyria pauses while Wesley speaks, almost hypnotized by his voice. He's less than an arm's length away, and Fred takes that moment to really look at him. The lines on his face have deepened over the last several weeks, and his hair and clothing are rumpled. He looks like he's barely slept, his eyes sunken and dark. For all that, he's still handsome, and Fred imagines for a moment what it would be like to reach out and touch his cheek, to smooth away his pain with her hand, to kiss him, to run her hands over his arms, his chest, to-

"I do not bend to your wishes." Illyria's harsh reply snaps Fred out of her reverie.

"I'm not asking you to," Wesley says calmly, placating it. "Merely suggesting that more tests might lead to knowledge of how to help you function."

_Yes, please Illyria, lets go to the lab,_ Fred says, trying to appease it. _Wesley's right, if we go there maybe I can help you. And anyways, I like it in the lab._ It's the closest thing Fred has had to a home since the loss of her body.

Illyria considers a moment longer, then turns. "I go because it suits me," it says, and stalks off.

It's silent as they mount the flight of stairs, but Fred can feel its curiosity. It didn't leave because it wanted to go to the lab; there's something else bothering it.

_What?_ Fred asks. _What has you so intrigued?_ She assumes it's something silly, like when Illyria became entranced by the patterns in the grain of the wooden wall panels. Better to ask now and get it over with.

_What were those-,_ Illyria pauses, searching for the right words. _Those… feelings… you were having? When you were imagining touching Wesley, and, the other things...? What was that?_

Fred sputters a moment in shock before replying. _That was private and you should stay out of my mind!_ she snaps, embarrassed. _You wouldn't even understand, you have no capacity for love._

_So that was 'love'?_ Illyria says, not at all perturbed by Fred's reaction, and certainly not intending to give her any privacy. _It is called 'love', what you were doing when you imagined removing Wesley's clothing and-_

_No!_ Fred cuts it off. _No, that, that's… different. Sort of. A product of love, or an expression of it. And none of your business!_

Illyria pauses to consider this as they reach the top of the stairs. _The feelings you have for him. They are warm. And... good. Touching his lips with yours, it felt… nice. It felt, right. This is love?_ it asks.

Fred is mollified slightly by Illyria's innocent and naive observation. _Yes,_ she says. _Yes, that is love. Or part of it, at least. It's much more than that._

_I think I… I liked those feelings. And the other part, the Product of Love you spoke of. That was enjoyable, also,_ Illyria says in its customary monotone.

_Yes, well, unless you give me my body back that's never going to-_ Fred starts, but she freezes at the sound of a voice by the elevators.

"See! I told you they would remember us!" The man's voice carries clearly through the open lobby.

_Daddy?_


	5. Chapter 5

Fred's heart drops. Her parents, here, and with no idea of the nightmare that has transpired. She remembers telling Wes, in the last moments before she "died", to tell her parents, to tell them that she was brave and didn't suffer. Fred isn't surprised he forgot to do it; he's barely remembered to eat or change his own shirt in the last several weeks. Now here they are, excited to see their baby girl, blissfully unaware of her death. They smile earnestly at Wesley, who can only stare back at them in abject horror.

"I guess we do make an impression!" Trish says, misreading Wesley's expression.

Fred feels an overwhelming desire to run to her parents, to feel their arms wrap around her and have them tell her everything is going to be okay. She wants to go back to the way it was when she was a child, when her mom could wipe away the tears and kiss away the pain, when her daddy would make silly faces and tell jokes to make her laugh. Illyria is silent, but Fred can feel its attention on her, and on her parents, studying, curious. It walks to the edge of the upper landing and looks down into the lobby.

Wesley, overcoming his shock, finds his voice. "Why are you here?" he blurts out. He catches himself, forces a smile, and speaks more gently. "I mean, wha-"

"Hawaii!" Roger jumps in enthusiastically, too excited to notice Wesley's rudeness.

"Been saving up for years," Trish elaborates.

Fred remembers, the jar by the side door, stuffed full of pocket change and the odd twenty. Her parents had always dreamed of taking a big trip, somewhere fancy and exotic they said. Fred can't count the number of times they had to dip into that jar to cover bills when money got tight. More than a little of her university tuition came out of that jar. She's glad they were finally able to save enough.

"Thought we'd take a layover and surprise Fred!" Roger explains. "Uh, know where we can find her?" Trish's grin widens at the thought of seeing her little girl.

Wesley is silent for several long moments, composing himself. He forces a half smile. "Step into my office," he says gravely, and turns, leading the way. The Burkles follow eagerly, smiling at a dumbstruck Lorne as they pass.

Fred feels herself go weak. She watches as her parents disappear into Wesley's office. She knows what is about to happen, what crushing blow Wesley is about to deal them, and she can't bear it.

_Please,_ Fred begs Illyria, _please, this one time, let me be me. Let me go to them. If they find out- If Wesley tells them- I'm their only child! It will tear them apart to learn I died. Please let me go to them._

Illyria considers. _Their grief, it will be like Wesley's?_

_Worse,_ Fred answers quickly, _so much worse. I'm all they have. Please, if you have any shred of humanity, don't make them go through this! Don't make me watch my family get torn apart._

Illyria looks out over the lobby, thinking, then without a word closes their eyes and tilts back their head. Fred starts to protest that this wasn't what she meant by 'not watching', when she feels a tingling in her skin. It intensifies, and she feels as if her entire body is in a vacuum, like she is being stretched out like a balloon. She cries out, and to her surprise hears her own voice echo in the hallway. The sensation fades, and she gasps, opening her eyes. A few people nearby give her startled looks. A young man in a lab coat comes around the corner and pulls up short, dropping a stack of files as he gapes at her. She looks down at herself and can't believe her eyes.

Gone is the heavily veined blue skin and tight leather armor. Instead Fred sees her own soft milky complexion, clad in one of her own outfits: a short, fluttery skirt with a whimsical floral print, and a burgundy blouse. She's even wearing her favorite shoes. She reaches up and touches her hair where it falls in soft brown waves around her shoulders. This is her. She can feel it, that this is her body the way it should be. She wants to jump for joy, to yell and laugh and find Wesley and throw her arms around him because she is back! And her parents! She can't wait to see them, it's been so long. She goes to run for the stairs but is startled to find she can't move her legs. She tries again, panic gripping her chest, but nothing happens.

_No._ Illyria's voice floats into her brain, sounding hollow and small. _I cannot permit you to move until you understand the terms of this arrangement._

Fred's heart drops. Of course. It couldn't be this easy. She feels silly for getting her hopes up. _Wha- what are your terms?_ Fred asks, her voice catching with disappointment.

Illyria doesn't reply right away, and turns instead to the small crowd that has gathered a cautious distance away. "Be gone, vermin," it says, in it's own voice. "I am merely using my powers of modulation to conduct an experiment. I demand that you refer to me as 'Miss Burkle' when I am in this form, and that you treat me as you would her. But do not forget, this shell is still my own and I will not hesitate to crush you with it." It pauses, gauging their reactions. Most of the people gathered collect themselves and go back to their work. The young man, whom Fred recognizes as one of the interns from her lab, doesn't move and continues to stare, transfixed. Illyria takes a menacing steps forward and growls at him.

"Continue to gaze upon me in this manner and I will give you cause to regret it."

The intern snaps out of his reverie and scrambles to gather up the scattered files, keeping his eyes downcast. With a last furtive glance at Illyria, he hurries back the way he came. With the audience scattered, Illyria turns around and starts for the stairs.

_So this is all just some sick experiment?_ Fred asks with disgust. _Are you trying to find new ways to cause people pain?_ She can't help but think of Wesley, what his reaction to this will be.

_I am merely using your form so I might study this new type of human 'relationship' you have presented. 'Parents' were not something we had in my time. I am still in control of this shell,_ Illyria replies.

_You'll never convince my parents that you're me,_ Fred says. _Even looking like one, you could never pass for human._

_And that is why you will be the one in control,_ Illyria replies calmly, though Fred detects a note of hurt in it's voice. They reach the bottom of the stairs and start across the lobby.

_Then what's to stop me from telling them everything? If Wes knows I'm still here, he'll stop at nothing to get rid of you and bring me back,_ Fred challenges.

Illyria is unconcerned. _Even if you could convince Wesley that you still exist, it would be pointless. Because if you defy me, give any signal to Wesley that you are real, or to your parents that something is wrong, I will use this form to kill them, brutally, and force you to watch._

Fred shrinks back in horror. _You wouldn't,_ she whispers, _you can't._

_Do you wish to bet their lives on that?_ Illyria retorts. Suddenly Fred's mind is filled with horrifying images of her parents and Wesley, beaten, mangled, covered in blood and strewn across the floor. Their eyes stare at her, lifeless and terrified.

_No!_ Fred cries, and the images disappear. Real tears roll down her cheeks, something she hasn't had the luxury of feeling in a long time. They reach the door to Wesley's office, and Illyria pauses. They can hear Fred's parents inside, talking excitedly, telling Wesley all about their trip plans.

_You will agree to these terms?_ Illyria asks. It's not really a question. Fred nods silently. Illyria seems satisfied. _Remove the water from your face before entering the office._

Fred rubs the back of her hand across her cheeks, wiping away most of the tears. It's strange, moving her body on her own after so long. She takes a deep breath and pushes open the door. Wesley is standing with his back to her and doesn't hear her come in. She can hear him talking softly. Fred looks past him to her parents and plasters a smile on her face.

"Mom?" Fred says, testing out her voice. To her relief it comes out her own, not Illyria's deep gravely monotone that she's become so accustom to in recent weeks. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Wesley's back stiffen, and he turns slowly to look at her. She can't meet his eyes. She's afraid of what she'll see there, of what she'll do if she does. Instead she focuses on her mom and dad, forcing herself to keep smiling.

"Well! There she is now!" Roger says upon seeing her. Fred's grin widens in spite of her worries.

"Dad! Oh my God! What are y'all doin' here?!" she exclaims, the sight of her family causing her to slip easily back into her soft Texas accent. She rushes towards her parents and allows them to wrap her up in a great big hug. She squeezes them tightly and buries her face in her dad's broad chest. She can feel Wesley's eyes on her, drilling into the back of her head. He hasn't said anything, and she's glad. She's not sure yet what to say to him.

Her parents hold her at arm's length, cooing and fussing over her. Her thoughts drift as she soaks up the love and attention. It's been so long, with her only companion being Illyria's cold presence, only getting to watch her friends and loved ones from afar, her imagination the only place she could experience love and comfort. Imagined affection is not nearly as good as the real thing.

Fred is pulled out of her daze, realizing that her mom is asking her something.

"Fred sweetie, did you hear what I said?" Trish prompts her.

"What? Oh, I'm sorry mom, I'm just so excited to see y'all!" Fred replies, trying to cover her distraction by pulling her mom into another hug. She hadn't thought much past the initial greeting, and she's not sure what to do next. She can feel Illyria, lurking in the back of her mind, waiting for her to slip up.

"Well, I'm glad sweetheart but as much as we love your hugs, we were hopin' to get a peek at your fancy new office!" Trish says with a chuckle.

"Yeah, we were just telling' Wesley here what a nice upgrade it is from that strange old hotel," Roger adds. "Think we could get a tour?"

Wesley, having found his voice, jumps in. "I can take you around. I believe Ill- Fred, I believe she's busy, with something. Are you not?"

Fred turns reluctantly to face him. He gives her a pointed look, and his gaze flicks worriedly to her parents. _He still thinks I'm you,_ Fred says to Illyria. _He thinks I'll hurt them._ Illyria doesn't reply, but she can tell that it doesn't want her to end the familial encounter just yet. She pastes a smile on her face and turns back to her parents. She can't handle seeing Wesley look at her like that.

"Don't be silly! Of course I can take you around!" she says enthusiastically.

"I'll come with you then," Wesley says, a note of desperation in his voice. Fred's smile falters. It would be so much easier to do this if Wesley weren't around.

Before Fred can come up with some excuse why he should stay here, Trish jumps in. "Well that sounds just wonderful! Don't you think so, Fred honey?" she says happily as she moves past Fred to take Wesley's arm. "I certainly wouldn't object to being escorted by such a fine young man!" She pats Wesley's arm and gives Fred a knowing look. Fred hadn't gotten around to telling her parents about her relationship with him, but her mom had always suspected that they shared more than just friendship and a love of science.

Roger comes up beside Fred and wraps his arm around her shoulder. "Well, what are we waiting for?" he asks. Wesley smiles tightly, still eyeing Fred, and leads them out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Fred stops in front of the doors into the lab and turns to face her parents. Trish still has yet to let go of Wesley's arm, and keeps looking expectantly between him and Fred.

"And this," Fred says, indicating the door behind her, "is my lab!" She steps back, pushing the door wide for her parents. They step into the huge space, gaping at it in awe.

Fred lets the door swing shut and turns to face the room. Every scientist and lab tech has stopped what they are doing to stare at her in stunned silence. The young intern from earlier comes in from a side office and pulls up short.

"M- Miss Burkle?" he stammers. Fred is relieved; she's not sure how she would have explained it if he addressed her as 'Illyria'. She smiles at everyone reassuringly.

"It's alright," she says, trying to keep her voice from shaking, "I'm just showing my parents around. No need to stop workin' on account of us!"

Snapped out of their daze, they all scramble to get back to what they'd been doing. They've grown accustomed to having Illyria in the lab over the last several weeks, and not one of them wants to get in her way. A female lab tech, Linda, approaches and smiles politely at the Burkles.

"Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Burkle," she says, glancing at Fred nervously out of the corner of her eye. The last traces of a bruise are still visible on the side of her face; Illyria had struck the woman several days before when she wasn't fast enough fulfilling a request it had made.

"Would you like a glass of water, or a cup of coffee maybe?" Linda asks. Both Roger and Trish shake their heads, thanking her.

"We're fine, thank you, Linda," Fred says warmly. "I know you're busy with testing right now. Pretend we're not even here." Fred reaches out to pat her shoulder, a friendly gesture, but the tech flinches away. Fred lets her hand drop back to her side and her smile fades. Linda hustles back to her station.

With a deep breath, Fred turns back to her parents. "Well, everyone seems pretty busy here and I don't want to bother them, so why don't we keep going?" she says brightly.

The four of them go through a side door and down a narrow hallway. Roger steps up beside Fred and puts his arm around her.

"I gotta tell you," he says, "everyone is so dang friendly! I can't get over it!"

"Yeah well they kinda have to be, Daddy, I'm their boss," Fred says with a wry smile. "If they're mean to you I'll just fire 'em!" _Or my demon body-mate might take out their kneecaps._

Roger grins and squeezes her shoulder. Wesley and Trish follow close behind. Fred can feel Wesley's eyes boring into the back of her head.

"Have we not seen each other since I ran over that bug demon with the bus?" Trish asks conversationally. Fred and Roger reach the bottom of a short set of stairs and turn to face them. Fred smiles at her mom, trying not to look at Wesley. "How is that even possible?" Trish continues.

Fred steals a quick glance at Wes, but he looks away. "Things have been a bit hectic these last couple years," he says with a tight smile.

"Well I wanna hear absolutely everything but most importantly," Trish says with a surreptitious glance at Fred, "have you got a young lady in your life?"

Fred is horrified. She sees the pain flash in Wesley's eyes. "Mom!" she says with reproach.

"What?" Trish replies indignantly. "I was just askin'. I mean can I help it if there's a perfect gentleman hiding in plain sight of my single daughter?"

Wesley looks like he wants to be sick. He keeps his eyes downcast and makes no reply.

"Dad, make her stop," Fred begs her father, trying to keep a lightness in her voice that she doesn't feel. She shoots Wesley and apologetic look, but his eyes never leave the floor.

"Knock it off, Big Mouth!" Roger says to Trish with a smile.

Trish turns to Wesley and quips, "He keeps talking to me like that I'm gonna keep you for myself!" Wesley forces a small grin but still won't meet her eyes.

"Uh, is this whole laboratory yours honey?" Roger asks, to change the subject.

Fred jumps at the topic, relieved to get back to talking about something more benign. "Well, technically it's the company's, but, yeah! I'm in charge of it!" she answers. "Wanna see my office?" She indicates the little room at the top of the stairs.

"That's it, up there?" Roger asks. He beckons to Trish. "Come on baby!"

Trish coos with excitement at the prospect of their little girl having her very own office. Fred smiles and turns to follow them up the stairs, but before she can take a step Wesley grabs her arm, spinning her around to face him. His face is filled with rage and hurt.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks. Fred's smile waivers, and she pauses, not sure what to say.

"Visiting with my folks," she manages to squeak out. Wesley leans in, angry, and Fred can't avoid looking into his eyes. She searches them for some sign that he sees what's really going on, that he sees that this is more than just a sick parlour trick, but all she sees is pain and accusation. She desperately wants to make him see that it's really her, but Illyria's image of him beaten and bloody is burned into her brain. She doesn't dare try anything.

"Illyria!" Wesley spits out. It hits Fred like a slap, to hear him call her that to her face, her real face. Her smile disappears completely.

 _I can't, Illyria, I can't do this. What do I say to him?_ Fred says. In an instant she feels Illyria's presence crowd back into her head, taking back control.

"Your grief hangs off of you like rotted flesh," it growls, glaring at Wesley. "I couldn't tolerate it from them as well. I thought this would be more convenient." It stares Wesley down. He circles, looking Fred up and down. He seems more comfortable talking to Illyria than Fred.

"How is it possible?" he asks, suspicious.

 _Please, oh please figure it out Wes!_ Fred hopes silently.

"It's a simple modulation of my form," Illyria replies. "I appear as I choose."

 _No, dammit! It's me, Wes! Why can't you see that?_ Fred yells, wishing she could say it out loud.

Illyria advances on Wesley. "Do you wish me to stop?" Illyria says. _Because I could destroy them, if that is what you would prefer,_ it continues for Fred's benefit.

 _No! No, I'm sorry, I'll play along. I'll do what you want. Just don't hurt them,_ Fred answers quickly. Illyria and Wesley remain locked in a staring contest, neither one willing to back down.

Trish comes out of the office at that moment, interrupting. "Sweetie you have _got_ to do a better job decorating! This office is as bare as a bone!" she exclaims, perplexed. Neither Wesley nor Illyria reacts, or gives any sign that they heard her. They remain locked in their silent stare down, waiting for the other to blink. Sensing the tension, Roger comes out to stand next to his wife.

It's Wesley that looks up first. When he does, Illyria shifts back out of Fred's mind, putting her back in control. She waits, frozen, wondering what Wesley will do. He considers the Burkles for a moment before finally looking back at Fred.

"Everything's fine," he says, voice cracking. Relieved, Fred puts on a happy face and turns back to her parents.

"Absotively!" she chirps with forced brightness. "Now what was that about my decorating skills?"

Trish considers them suspiciously a moment longer, but, to Fred's relief, decides to let it go. Trish goes back into the office and the others follow.

"I just think you could maybe put a little more effort in, honey," Trish says, fluttering her hands around to indicate the room. "You know, maybe a photograph or two, a little potted plant. You've got that nice big window, why not put up some curtains? I've got that old set your Aunt Minnie made, the ones with the little peacocks on them? You used to love those! They would look just lovely, and bring a little colour into the room. I can have them shipped here for you, it really wouldn't be any trouble!"

Fred sighs. Her office hadn't always been like this. There had been pictures everywhere, mostly of her with the rest of the gang from back when they were still living in the hotel and Cordy had gone a bit snap-happy with her fancy new digital camera. More recently she'd added pictures of her and Wesley, most of them those silly strips from the photo booth in the mall. But after her death Wesley had had someone clear them all out. He was overseeing her projects now and had to spend time in the lab; the constant reminder of happier times was too much for him. There had been several potted flowers, as well, but after Illyria started eating them he had those taken away, too.

"Mom, that's sweet of you, really, but I don't need curtains. I never bothered decorating cause I don't spend that much time in here anyhow," Fred explains. "I'm just so busy working in the lab."

"Well, if you're sure," Trish says, unconvinced.

"I'm sure, Mom," Fred replies.

"Oh leave the girl alone, Trish," Roger pipes up. "If she doesn't want to decorate, she doesn't have to decorate! Now I don't know about the rest o' y'all, but I'm right starved. What do you say the four of us head out for a bite of lunch?"

Trish perks up at the suggestion, clearly pleased at the prospect of another opportunity to push Fred and Wesley together. "Oh, I think that sounds like a lovely idea, don't you Fred?" she asks, casting pointed glances at Wesley. "It can be like a double date!" Before Fred can reply, Wesley cuts in.

"No!" he says sharply, startling the Burkles. "No, no. I'm very sorry, it would be lovely to spend more time with you both, but unfortunately we, that is, …Fred… and I, we have an important meeting in a few minutes. With our science division." He shoots Fred a warning look. The Burkles look disappointed.

"Well, alright then," Roger says glumly. "I guess we'd best be going. Don't want to be keeping you from your work."

"Oh, I'm sorry Daddy!" Fred apologizes. "I completely forgot about the meeting. I don't want you feel like we're pushing you out the door."

"Now don't you worry a bit," Trish reassures her. "Your father and I were just dropping by for a quick visit. We're so glad you have such a wonderful job, with such wonderful people!"

 _Yeah, this demon in my body is really 'wonderful',_ Fred thinks sardonically. Aloud she says, "They are the bestest! I really am happy here, Mom."

"Well, lets get goin' Trish!" Roger says. "Don't want to be making these kids late for their meeting!"

Wesley steps forward and offers his arm to Trish. "I'll walk you to the elevator," he says politely.

"Such a gentleman!" she exclaims, with a wink to Fred, and happily accepts the proffered arm. The four of them head out of the office.

In the lobby, Roger pushes the elevator call button and turns to Fred to say his goodbyes. Trish comes to stand beside him. Wesley waits just behind Fred, keeping a careful eye to make sure Illyria doesn't try anything.

"Sorry to just drop in on you like this, unannounced," Trish says, with a look at Roger.

"Are you kidding me?" Fred replies. "I'm just sad y'all can't stay longer!" Fred works hard not to cry. She doesn't know when, or if, she'll ever get to see her family again.

"Well, the beach is calling!" Roger says with a cheeky grin.

Trish looks at Wesley gravely. "Wesley, you take care of our little Fred for us, okay?" she says with a note of worry.

Fred glances at Wes and attempts an apologetic smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. His face remains stony. "Of course," he says flatly. Trish smiles gratefully at him and steps forward to wrap Fred in a warm hug.

"Oh, I miss ya already and we haven't even gone yet!" Trish chokes out tearily. She steps back and holds Fred at arm's length. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asks. "You seem different somehow."

Fred's smile fades and she struggles to find an answer. She feels Illyria tense, and starts to panic. Roger cuts in, saving her from having to find a suitable reply.

"Aw, she just growin' up, mother!" he says with mild reproach. "Let her go, you're gonna embarrass her in front of her employees!"

Trish sighs and lets go of Fred, slightly embarrassed. Fred relaxes and smiles at her parents.

"Oh stop it Daddy! Come here, gimme a hug!" she says, pulling them both in. "I love you guys so much." Fred squeezes them tightly, never wanting to let go.

"Oh, we love you too," Trish replies. The elevator dings to signal it's arrival and Fred reluctantly releases her parents. They start to back towards the elevator.

"We'll talk soon, okay?" Roger says to Fred.

"Countin' on it," Fred answers, and waves as they hustle into the waiting elevator. The doors close, and Fred's face falls. She can sense Wesley behind her, guarding. She's about to apologize to him, but with a shove Illyria is back in her mind.

 _I guess it's too much to ask for even a second longer than you feel is 'necessary'_ , Fred says bitterly.

"Did you get what you needed from that experience?" Wesley asks, voice filled with ice.

"Yes. It was most informative." Illyria's reply is bland, clinical.

"Good." Wesley's voice is full of anger and hatred. "Don't ever do it again." He stalks off, leaving Illyria and Fred staring at the elevator doors.

 _Oh God,_ Fred moans. _I made a mistake. This was all such a mistake. I should have just let him tell my parents I was dead. Everything would be easier, for all of them, if I was dead._

 _That is not true,_ Illyria replies, matter of fact. _I have observed their regard for you. I believe you were correct when you told me that their grief would be greater than Wesley's. It is better this way. They will be happier._

 _That's… almost compassionate of you,_ Fred remarks.

 _Do not mistake this for weakness, shell,_ Illyria responds. _I merely wanted to avoid having to deal with all that unpleasantness._

Fred isn't convinced, but she drops the subject anyways. _I suppose you'll be turning my body back into an armoured Smurf now?_ she asks conversationally. She enjoyed looking like herself for a few hours, but she isn't foolish enough to believe Illyria will be willing to stay that way for much longer.

 _Actually,_ Illyria says, _I think it may be useful to maintain this form awhile._

Fred is surprised, and more than a little suspicious. _Why?_ she asks.

 _Before, you spoke of a 'Product of Love'. It is interesting to me. I wish to study it for myself,_ it replies.

It takes a moment for the meaning of Illyria's words to sink in.

 _What do you mean…?_ she asks, hoping it's not what she thinks.

Illyria is already striding purposefully towards Wesley's office. _I mean, if I am to be forced to exist in this human-ruled dimension_ , _I intend to observe all forms of human behaviour and interaction. This 'Product of Love' is one I find intriguing and have yet to witness outside of your simple imaginings. So I will use your form to experience it myself with Wesley._

Fred's stomach churns, her suspicions confirmed. _You can't. He wouldn't, not with you._

 _And that is why I am using your form._ Illyria reaches the door to Wesley's office.

 _It's not that simple. I won't help you. I won't do this, no matter how much you threaten me,_ Fred says, desperate to derail Illyria's plan.

_That is why I observed your mannerisms carefully today. I have no need of your assistance any longer._

_So that's what it was really about?_ Fred asks. _You only let me be me for my parents so you could study me? For what? To find more ways to hurt everyone? To hurt Wes?_ If she had her body she would be sick to her stomach.

Without replying Illyria opens the door to Wesley's office.

It's dark, and it takes a minute for their eyes to adjust. Wesley is sitting in a chair staring off into the distance, his face illuminated by a single lamp. His books are open and spread across the desk, whatever research he had been doing forgotten for the time being.

"Wes?" Illyria says in Fred's voice. It steps into the room and closes the door. "Are you like, mad at me or something?"

"Stop it," Wesley says without turning his head.

If Fred could cry right now she would. All of this, so needlessly cruel, all to satisfy Illyria's morbid curiosity. As a scientist Fred had done her fair share of experiments on laboratory subjects, mice and rats mostly. She didn't like causing them suffering, but at least she could console herself with the fact that the tests provided results that actually benefitted others. What Illyria is doing will help no one, only cause pain, and Fred feels foolish for ever thinking the demon could do anything other than that.

"Isn't it what you desire?" Illyria asks Wesley, using it's own voice. Wesley swallows and doesn't answer. Illyria continues, switching back to Fred's voice, and moves further into the room, encouraged by his silence. "I mean, you love me, I love you. What's the big deal?" It grins hopefully.

Wesley still doesn't turn around. "I loved her," he says, correcting it.

Fred's heart breaks, remembering the last time he told her he loved her, cradling her in his arms as she slipped away from him and into her own private hell.

Illyria slips back into it's own voice again. "You loved this." It looks down, indicating Fred's body. "And part of you still does."

 _You don't understand at all,_ Fred tells it. _It's so much more than bodies. What Wes and I had was deeper than that. It was…_ Her voice breaks and she can't continue. True love. Even saying it into her own brain is too painful.

Illyria pauses, listening to Fred. Prompted by Fred's choice of words, it searches, trails of thought burrowing into Fred's mind, searching for that deeper connection to Wesley. Fred can feel it when Illyria finds that place, the piece of her heart that is for Wesley. She can feel it's surprise and curiosity, how foreign these feelings are to the demon.

Illyria's voice softens. "I can feel it in you."

Fred can sense the realization dawning in Illyria, that it is dealing with something far beyond it's comprehension.

"I… wish to explore it further," Illyria says, not realizing it is still speaking aloud.

Wesley stands quickly, turns to face it. "Never," he says. "You. Like this. It sickens me." His voice is cruel, harsh.

Trying to cover its mistake, Illyria slips back into Fred's voice and coyly takes a step towards him. "Oh lord, we both know that ain't true." The words are manipulative, like Illyria is still trying to 'explore' with Wesley, but Fred knows better. She can feel that Illyria's heart isn't in it, that it is distracted by what it is learning of true love from its invasion into her mind.

Rather than giving in to the feeling of violation and pushing Illyria out, Fred forces herself to let it in, encourages it even. Illyria's sense of wonder increases as it explores the feelings and emotions that exist beyond words or actions. It absorbs the feelings, basks in them like a teenager falling in love for the first time. It advances on Wesley, drawn to him.

"Stop it," Wesley snaps. Illyria recoils, feels the rejection as keenly as if the love it's experiencing were it's own and not Fred's.

"Change back. Be blue. Be anything." Wesley is desperate, beaten. He looks into Illyria's eyes, deadly serious. "Don't be her." Unable to bear it anymore he brushes past, heading for the door.

"Don't ever be her," Wesley repeats without turning, his words like a dagger straight into Fred's heart. He opens the door and is gone.

Fred feels as if all the life has been sucked out of her. All her dreams, of finding her way back and Wesley welcoming her with open arms because he would know, intuitively, that it was her, all of that is gone. She hadn't contemplated the idea that he would be unable to accept that she was real. Never before has Fred felt such utter despair.

 _Please, do as he asks, Illyria. Be blue,_ she says. She doesn't want to exist in this world right now.

Illyria closes their eyes and tips back their head. Fred again feels the pulling sensation, and without looking knows that the leather-clad blue demon is back.

"As you wish," Illyria says.

The two of them are silent for a long time. It is Illyria who finally breaks the silence.

 _Thank you,_ it says.

Fred is confused. _For what?_ she asks.

 _For letting me experience it. What you feel for Wesley,_ it answers. _That was what you meant, when you spoke of being 'in love'. It was… I do not know the word to describe it._

 _There isn't one,_ Fred says softly. _But it doesn't matter now. He'll never accept me, even if I could beat you, come back for real. He'll never trust that it's really me. You've ruined that for me, too. You win._

 _I didn't know,_ Illyria says quietly. _In my time, these things, they did not exist. There was only fear and anger and power. I didn't understand-_

 _Please, Illyria,_ Fred cuts in. _I would really like to be alone right now. Just go back to the way you were. Forget all of this. There's no point. Just leave me alone._

Illyria falls silent. Grateful for the peace, Fred affords herself the luxury of wallowing in her despair. She remembers all those years of keeping Wesley at arm's length, friend-zoning him as it were. She wishes she could go back in time and tell her younger self to open her eyes and stop wasting time. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, her mom would say. She almost laughs at the irony that Illyria is the only power she's ever encountered that could act on that hindsight, that experienced time in a non-linear fashion and would be able to go back and change things. Not anymore, of course, after Wesley shot it with the mutari generator. Now they are both of them locked in a present they don't want.

 _I would like to help,_ Illyria says, it's voice cutting into Fred's thoughts.

Fred laughs bitterly. _No, I think I'd prefer you stay out of this. What would I do if you ruined despair and self-pity for me, too? I wouldn't have anything left._

 _I am … sorry,_ Illyria says.

Fred is speechless.

 _I would like to help you. And Wesley,_ Illyria continues. _Especially Wesley._ It looks off the way he had gone.

 _Why?_ Fred asks, recovering from her shock at Illyria's apology.

 _Because if I cannot have my world,_ Illyria replies, _I think I would like Wesley to have his._


	7. Chapter 7

With a crack, Spike's fist connects with Fred's jaw and sends her spinning across the room. She slams into the wall, only just managing to stop herself before her face hits the observation window. She glimpses her reflection in the glass, icy eyes and blue-veined skin smeared with the blood trickling from her nose and split lip. She leans heavily on the window frame, catching her breath. Behind her, Spike laughs mockingly.

"What's wrong, little Shiva?" he asks, "Not tired already are you?"

_You're failure to match the vampire is embarrassing me,_ Illyria complains.

_These training sessions were your idea,_ Fred retorts. _"In order to properly share this vessel you must learn to wield my power,"_ she mocks it, imitating the demon's inflection. That skill, at least, she was able to master quickly. Since looking and sounding like Fred hurt those around her so much, the first thing she had Illyria teach her was to imitate its voice and appearance. The vocal mannerisms were easy, and maintaining the demon's appearance was only a slight challenge. But doing that while also trying to use Illyria's combat powers was still beyond Fred's capabilities. Unfortunately for her, it was impossible to draw from Illyria's powers while in her human form. Illyria had proved itself to be, not surprisingly, a very demanding teacher. It wasn't satisfied with simply letting Fred work up to full combat mode; Illyria was never happy unless someone was getting punched. Much to Fred's dismay, lately that someone was usually her.

"You're not taking a nap are you? Is Spiky a little too much for the Big Bad Illyria?" Spike taunts gleefully.

Illyria growls. _If you do not hit him, I will._

_I'm doing the best I can,_ Fred snarls back. _You couldn't have started me with a practice dummy?_

_Is that not what Spike is?_ Illyria asks, and Fred can feel it smirk. Fred grins despite her annoyance. Illyria was having as much trouble learning the intricacies of humanity as Fred was learning to be a demon, but at least the sarcasm and humour lessons seem to be working.

With a deep breath, Fred turns back to face Spike. He grins cheekily and settles into a lazy combat stance. Fred winds up and takes a swing at him, which he dodges easily, laughing.

"What happened, 'lyria? You turn into a senior citizen overnight or something?" Spike quips.

"At least I aged better than you!" Fred says with a grunt as she swings, and misses, again.

Spike laughs, and Fred simmers with frustration and anger. She feels the emotions mixing with Illyria's own annoyance, feeding off of it. It bubbles up, and Fred can feel Illyria's wild demonic power coming with it. Finally, she has hit pay-dirt. With a feral grin she settles onto the balls of her feet, ready to strike, letting the power build. It sings through her veins, fills her head with glorious desires for death and destruction. The world around her seems small, dwarfed by her greatness. She need only snap her fingers and-

Spike darts forward and, swinging his leg around in a low semi-circle, sweeps her legs out from under her. Fred drops unceremoniously to the floor, landing hard on her tailbone, legs splayed.

"Oww," she huffs, letting out a sharp breath. Spike howls with laughter. Fred glares at him.

"You would be wise not to mock me," she says aloud to Spike, doing her best to react as Illyria would. Spike just laughs harder, doubled over gasping, tears or mirth steaming down his face.

_Now is your chance, little shell,_ Illyria says. _The vampire is distracted by his amusement at my expense. It is now you should heed the words of that clever old man in the film you showed me; "Give in to your anger"._

_For the last time, you're not supposed to cheer for the Emperor! I knew I would regret letting you watch Star Wars,_ Fred grumbles, but she heeds the advice just the same. She tenses, lets the rage at being beaten again and again overtake her.

Spike, recovering from his fit of laughter, straightens, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "What's wrong, little smurf?" he asks in a baby voice. "Does the wittle bitty demon have a booboo?"

In one fluid motion, Fred is back on her feet. With a yell that is more animal than human, she jumps at Spike, arm raised ready to slam her fist into his head. With a startled look Spike jumps to the side just in time. Fred's fist slams into the floor where he'd been a moment before, and all the pent up power rushes out through her hand. A shockwave reverberates through the room and the hardwood floor beneath her hand buckles and splits. A few of the padded panels shake loose from the walls, and a spider web of cracks spread across the observation window.

Fred staggers and she straightens up, all her energy drained, her breathing laboured. Spike looks as if he just came out of a wind tunnel, his hair in a disarray despite the pounds of product he uses to glue it in place. He stares at her, dumbstruck.

"Huh," Spike says. "Neat trick." He pauses, eying her suspiciously. "Uh, Illyria? Why, uh, why do you look like Fred? And why are you naked?"

"Spike, I-" she stops, hearing her own voice. She clears her throat and tries again, but at the look on Spike's face, a strange mix of distress and appreciation, the words die in her throat. Fred looks down at her self and nearly chokes in horror. She's standing in the middle of the room, not a stitch of clothing covering her milky white skin. She gapes at Spike, completely at a loss for words. Spike continues to stare back at her, waiting for an answer. His eyes flick downward, away from her face, and Fred shifts uncomfortably under his roaming gaze. She tries to call up Illyria's appearance, but can't, mentally drained as she is.

_Illyria?_ she says, voice rising in desperation. _Help. Please!_ She feels the demon stir, recovering from it's shock. It, too, was caught off guard by Fred's display of power. She feels a familiar pulling sensation as Illyria takes back control of their body. Fred is relieved to feel the prickle of Illyria conjuring clothing to cover her.

"What the hell is going on, Illyria?" Spike asks, suspicious, all his sarcasm and mirth gone.

"Merely a lapse in my concentration," Illyria replies. "I have not used my power in that way in a long time; I lost control. You should not be concerned."

"Why do you look like Fred?" Spike repeats.

"I told you. A lapse in concentration. I modulated my form by accident."

Spike is not convinced. "You don't lose control. And I sure as hell have never seen you send a shockwave through a room before. And why would you 'accidentally' turn back into Fred? Naked?! Not that I mind really, can't say I don't appreciate the view…"

Illyria bristles. "Do not objectify the shell in that way! I tire of your questions. It is apparent that your puny intellect is not equipped to properly comprehend the intricacies of my greatness. Perhaps if I used smaller words you might better understand?"

Clearly the sass lessons were working, too.

Satisfied that it has verbally best Spike, Illyria heads for the door, brushing Spike out of the way as they pass. Fred gives Illyria a mental high five as the door swings shut behind them.

_You rocked that, Smurfy!_ she says.

_Do not call me that,_ Illyria replies. _And yes, I did. You did not do so well._

_Hey! I destroyed the training room!_ Fred retorts. _Which, by the way, I did not know we could do. Maybe a little heads up on the shockwave abilities would have been nice. I don't think Angel will be entirely thrilled to hear the training room has to be redone._

Illyria pauses, awkward. _That… that is not one of my powers._

_What do you mean?_

_I mean I do not have that power. I have never been able to do that,_ Illyria repeats, exasperated. _Are you becoming as dimwitted as the vampire?_

Fred rolls her eyes. _Well if not you, then what was that?_

_I… I do not know,_ Illyria says thoughtfully.

The two are silent a moment, digesting the full implications of their discovery. Without saying a word, they each know what the other is thinking: that maybe, somehow, the combination of Fred and Illyria has unlocked new abilities neither knew they had. It's Fred who finally breaks the silence.

_To the science lab?_

Illyria nods. _To the science lab._


	8. Chapter 8

_It's pointless,_ Illyria laments. It punches the sandbag again and it swings away, sand seeping from the seams where they'd split from the force of her repeated blows. _What has become of me? My shell can wield powers I only dream of, while I am here, trapped in this world of men, weakened by their devices, taking a combat lesson from a scientist!_

It punches the bag again and growls in frustration. They are alone in the basement of Wolfram and Hart, in a storage room emptied of all but a few pieces of workout equipment and a chair. After the destruction of the training room, Angel put a halt to their training sessions with Spike and banned Illyria from using the rooms at all. He'd set this place up for the demon to let off steam when its pent-up aggression resulted in an outburst that put two interns in the hospital.

_I wouldn't exactly call this a combat lesson,_ Fred says dryly. _It's mostly you punching things and whining about it. Maybe you're trying to hard. It's not like I deliberately made the shockwave, it just happened._

Illyria slumps to the floor, sitting cross-legged like a petulant child. _There is no need to brag. I am aware that you caused such glorious destruction without so much as a thought. To be able to make the vampire do that face…,_ it laments wistfully.

_He did look really funny standing there with his mouth open and his hair all over the place,_ Fred admits with a giggle. The two share in their amusement at the memory, but it isn't long before Illyria sobers, dejectedly picking at a flake of paint on the floor.

_Look, the tests came back normal. Well, normal given our circumstances!_ Fred says, injecting a note of levity to try and cheer her melancholic body-mate. _Maybe it was a random event, some outside force we didn't know about. Like solar flares that make electronics go haywire._

_I've been inside a sun,_ Illyria replies morosely. _I never created a shockwave._

Fred opens her mouth, but closes it again immediately. She has no reply for that. Instead she says, _Well, maybe we're going at this wrong. We're assuming that this is a higher level of your power, but what if its not?_

Illyria leans forward, tracing patterns in a pile of dust on the floor. _What do you mean?_

_I mean, what if it has nothing to do with the power, but the person wielding it?_ Fred replies, the theory forming in her mind as she speaks. She can feel that she is finally peaking Illyria's curiosity, so she continues.

_We originally thought that somehow the combination of the two of us created this enhanced power, but that doesn't explain why it doesn't work for you the same way it does for me._ _So maybe it has more to do with the person wielding it, like light focusing differently through different lenses._ Illyria sits up, abandoning its dust patterns, its attention fully captured by Fred's theory.

_When I use your power, it's not like I become you,_ Fred continues, _I'm still myself. Maybe that is the key._

Illyria thinks on that for a moment, considering what it could mean. _So you believe that when my power is channeled by you, it comes out differently? This is… actually quite logical._

Fred beams. It isn't often that Illyria gives praise. _Care to test the theory?_ she asks. She feels Illyria pull back from their body, an unspoken invitation for Fred to take control. She stands and faces the sandbag, reaching out to steady it's swing. She takes a deep breath. This is the first time she has drawn on Illyria's power since the incident with Spike, and it has her a bit nervous. She settles into a combat stance and takes a few practice swings at the bag.

_When you did it before, you were angry, that is what drew out my power,_ Illyria suggests. _Perhaps you should attempt to feel that rage again now._

Fred tries to think of something that angers her. She thinks of the bullies in school, and the professor that sent her to Pylea. She feels her pulse quicken, and her punches land with more force, but not the explosive power she's looking for. She goes through the list of things that make her angry: the demons who enslaved her, Angelus, Holst. Still, none of it works. She continues through her life, but nothing brings her to that level of anger.

_Think,_ Illyria says, pushing her. _What is the single most horrible moment of you've experienced?_

An image pops into Fred's mind, of the mysterious sarcophagus, left for her to find. She thinks of the missed opportunities, the life that was ripped away from her. Her punches land with greater and greater force, a steady stream of sand now leaking from the bag. She thinks of the life she might have led, with Wesley, the places they could have gone, things they could have done, experiences they will never have. How the option to live her life the way she wanted was stolen from her in one horrific, selfish act. With a crack her fist rips through the air and connects with the bag. The heavy canvas disintegrates and the sand flies outwards with the force of the blast. The sound is deafening, reverberating off the solid cement walls.

As the dust settles, Fred shivers from the damp chill of the basement, hugging her arms over her bare chest. Illyria is ready this time, and quickly conjures clothing to cover her. After several deep breaths, Fred smiles. "We did it!" she says excitedly.

Illyria is silent.

_Hey, 'lyria, are you awake?_ Fred prompts playfully. _Did you see that? This is a huge breakthrough! We were right! Hey-!_

With a shove Illyria pushes Fred out of the way and wrestles back control of their body. With a deep breath it modulates their form back to it's own.

_I do not think this is working,_ Illyria says coldly.

_What do you mean?_ Fred asks, surprised. _We just destroyed that punching bag with a shockwave! The power seems to be working just fine._

Illyria stalks across the room to get the spare punching bag from the corner. It lifts it with ease. _I was not referring to the power,_ the demon snarls. _I was referring to our arrangement. Sharing this body. I do not think it is a good idea._

Fred is taken aback. _But… why? I thought things were going well! What are you suggesting? You can't just… evict me from my own body!_

Illyria is silent as it hangs the sandbag and starts punching it. Fred can tell that something is wrong, but Illyria is purposefully shutting her out, not allowing the comfortable sharing of feelings that they'd been enjoying of late.

_Illyria,_ Fred says gently, _talk to me. Tell me what's wrong. Don't shut me out._

_I will shut you out if I please,_ Illyria snaps, it's fists pummeling the bag. _This is my body. Mine! I claimed it, and you cannot make me leave!_

_What are you talking about?_ Fred asks. _Nobody said anything about you leaving._

_But that's what you want, isn't it? I felt it, heard it in your mind. You hate me, I am that horrible moment in your life that fuels your rage,_ Illyria says, a note of hurt and accusation in its voice. _This whole time you have been deceiving me, pretending to go along with our arrangement, but all you want is to be rid of me. Well I will not let that happen._

_No, that's not-!_ Fred starts to explain, but she is interrupted by a tugging on her soul, pulling her downwards. A blackness creeps into her, tendrils of inky nothingness slowly piercing through her mind. She cries out in pain and shock. _Illyria! No! Stop, please don't send me back there,_ she begs. _You don't understand. Please, let me explain! I don't hate you._

Illyria growls with an otherworldly ferocity. _Do not lie to me, little shell. I felt your hatred, your anger at what I took from you. This whole time you've only been pretending. Pretending to share this body, pretending to help me._

_I'm sorry!_

Illyria pauses, surprised. Fred takes a second to catch her breath before explaining.

_Illyria, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you,_ Fred starts. She can feel Illyria's skepticism. _No, I mean it,_ she insists. _I can see why you would have thought it was you I was thinking of, you that I hate, and a few weeks ago, you would have been right. But not anymore. Illyria, I don't blame you for any of this._

Illyria is wary. _What do you mean? I was the one that came out of that sarcophagus and took your body._

_No. Well, yes, you did,_ Fred, says, stumbling through her explanation. _What I mean is, you didn't choose to be released and put in my body. You don't even like being in my body! No, the one I blame, the one I hate, that'd be Knox. Your Qua'hazan, you called him. He is the one that did this to me. To us._

Illyria blinks in bewilderment. _But I am the one that -_

_No,_ Fred says firmly. _He is the one that did this. He tricked us both into a situation neither one of us ever wanted. You are as much a victim as I am. I can't hate you for that._

Illyria lets out a breath and sags to the floor. Fred can feel something akin to relief flood through it. She smiles, relaxing. Illyria won't be sending her away any time soon.

_Hey,_ Fred says, _I'd be lying if I said I never wished my life could go back to the way it was, but I could do a lot worse than having you as a body-buddy._

_I, do not hate sharing this shell with you, either,_ Illyria replies softly.

Fred grins. _And hey, I'd say we're starting to make a pretty good team, don't'cha think?_

_Yes,_ Illyria says, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of it's mouth. _Without you and your shockwaves, it would have been impossible to mess up the vampire's hair._

Fred laughs. _What do you say we get outta here, huh?_

_Alright. You wish to go back to the lab?_ Illyria asks, already heading for the door.

Fred shakes her head. _No, I mean OUT out. Out of this building. Out to do something fun!_

_You wish to go hunting? Get into a fight?_ Illyria asks, confused. The door to their training room closes firmly behind them and they head for the stairs up to the lobby.

Fred grins mischievously. _No, I have something a little more human in mind. What exactly are the limits of your form modulation powers?_


	9. Chapter 9

Less than a block away from Wolfram & Hart, the clean, modern designs of the office buildings give way to rows of old shops, all in varying states of disrepair. The steady drone of window air-conditioners from walk-up apartments blends with the hum of traffic from a nearby freeway. It's late on a Tuesday night, all the shops are closed, and only a few pedestrians and the occasional car populate the streets, most heading home after a long day's work. Light spills onto the sidewalk from the only open establishment, a small rundown pub wedged between a locksmith and a store selling handcrafted lampshades. A peeling sign painted on the window promises live music and cheap pitchers on Tuesdays, and the lively chatter coming from inside confirms this is a popular event.

Inside the pub is clean and welcoming, at odds with it's somewhat dilapidated exterior. College students make up the majority of the clientele, groups of them filling the tables and dance floor in front of the small stage, where a local band is playing their third song of the night. The back of the pub is home to a row of dimly lit booths where the few older, and slightly less savoury, patrons sit quietly sipping their drinks.

Wesley sits in one such booth, tucked back in a corner facing the door. He hasn't shaved or showered in days, and his shirt is wrinkled from sleeping in it the night before. His eyes are hollow and lifeless, the hard set of his jaw discouraging any social interaction from the more lively college crowd. The light over his table flickers dimly, casting him in shadows and obscuring him from view. He picks up the tumbler of cheap scotch and downs it in one gulp, setting it back down next to a similar empty glass. He signals the server as she walks by, requesting two more with a wave of his hand. She smiles at him, eyes filled with barely disguised pity. Wesley's a regular here, coming in almost every night for the past several weeks. He always sits in the same place, barely saying two words to anyone, downing drink after drink until they start closing up, at which point he stumbles out of the door, leaving a handful of bills on the bar to cover his tab and a generous tip.

The server brings him his drinks and clears away the empty glasses. She smiles at him, but he barely even registers her presence. He watches the students laughing and talking, some of them singing along with whatever pop song the band is covering. He tries briefly to remember what it was like to feel that kind of joy and freedom, but all he can conjure is an image of Fred smiling up at him with her big, trusting eyes. He quickly downs another drink, trying to numb the wave of emotion that comes with the memory.

A tall pretty blonde walks through the door just as the band is announcing they're going to take a 15-minute break. She seems too classy to be in a place like this, looking stunning in high-heeled shoes and a soft blue dress that hugs her curves. She takes an empty seat at the bar, taking in her surroundings with curiosity, like someone who's never seen the inside of such a place before. Several of the college students take note of her entrance, more than a few of them giving her an appreciative once-over. The bartender gets her attention, asks her what she'd like. Her forehead creases in a small frown, and her eyes stare off into the distance for a moment, almost as if she's talking to herself. Her face clears and she looks back at the bartender. Wesley can only just hear her answer.

"I believe I would like a rum and coke," she says in a clipped, precise tone. Wesley takes another sip of his drink. Rum and coke was always Fred's favourite. In fact, this woman reminds him of Fred, in a way, with her high cheekbones, wide expressive eyes, and delicate frame. Once upon a time she would have been exactly the sort of woman Wesley would have tried to talk to, maybe get her number. Not anymore. He takes another drink, trying to drown out the world.

* * *

A face Fred barely recognizes as her own stares back at her from the bathroom mirror. Soft blond curls fall to her shoulders, brushing the straps of a blue dress. The face is similar, perhaps what her sister would look like if she'd had one.

_You did a good job on the form modulation, 'Lyria._ Fred finishes washing her hands and grabs a paper towel from the dispenser.

_I cannot stray too far from your original appearance, I'm afraid,_ it replies.

_No, it's great!_ Fred insists. _I always wondered what it would be like to be a "blonde bombshell"!_ She chuckles as she opens the bathroom door and they make their way back to their spot at the bar.

_Based on the staring and elevated heart-rates of many of the humans here,_ Illyria says flatly, _I can confirm that several of them find you to be sexually appealing._

Fred bursts into a fit of giggles, drawing a few glances from those around her. The large quantities of alcohol they have ingested over the course of the evening have quickly turned Fred into a giggly mess. The effects on Illyria are less obvious, but Fred can feel the demon is more relaxed than it has ever been since she's known it.

They return to their spot at the bar and the bartender places another rum and Coke in front of them, unasked. At Fred's questioning glance, he gestures to the far end of the bar, where a college student with frat-boy good looks is watching her over the top of his beer.

"From the gentleman," the bartender says, his sardonic tone implying the college guy is anything but. Fred blushes and smiles shyly at Frat-boy just the same, raising her glass to him in thanks.

_Why did that young man purchase this for us?_ Illyria asks. _We have funds and are capable of acquiring our own beverages._

Fred chuckles under her breath. _He thinks we're hot, silly!_

_Why would he think that?_ Illyria asks, still confused. _The human body does not posses the ability to sense temperatures at this distance._

Fred gives a quick snort of laughter. _No, not temperature hot, hot as in attractive!_

_He purchased you a drink because he wishes to mate with you?_ Illyria asks, a note of disgust in its voice. _That does not seem to be a fair trade._

_I don't have to 'mate' with him! It's just harmless flirting,_ Fred answers. _In fact, this might be a good time for you to practice another aspect of being human. You should try talking to him, see if you can get his phone number!_

_Absolutely not,_ Illyria says firmly.

_Please?_ Fred says pleadingly. _It'll be funny!_

_No,_ Illyria says again, clearly unimpressed. _I will not degrade myself by speaking to him. In my time whole worlds were offered as courtship gifts. We are worth far more than mediocre liquid refreshments._

_Come on!_ Fred prods it, rolling her eyes at the melodramatic trip down memory lane. _You're supposed to be learning human interaction-_

"Hi," a deep voice says just behind them, interrupting the argument. Fred spins around on the barstool to find Frat-boy standing there. He leans in, eyeing her with a predatory grin. Fred is caught off guard and gapes at him, blinking. In the back of her mind she hears Illyria let out a low hiss.

_Vampire,_ the demon growls.

"What?!" Fred says aloud before she can catch herself.

Frat-boy chuckles softly. "I said hi. What's your name, baby?" As he talks he leans in further still, stretching out his arm to prop himself up against the bar, effectively caging her in. Fred is deeply uncomfortable and alarm bells start going off in her head.

_See?_ Illyria says. _Vampire._

_He's just a creep,_ Fred insists, _that doesn't make him-_

But before she can finish her sentence Illyria snatches control of their body, and with it's best imitation of drunken giggling, pitches them forward, quickly bringing their hand up to catch themselves on Frat-boy's chest.

_Feel that?_ it asks.

It's right, Fred realizes. Where a heartbeat should be, there's nothing.

_Okay, yup. Definitely vampire,_ she concedes. _So what do we want to do about it?_

"Are names really necessary for engaging in carnal activities?" Illyria says aloud. Fred sputters in shock, not sure where Illyria is trying to go with this.

It catches the vampire off guard, too, and for a moment he looks stunned. He's quick to compose himself, and offers a devilish smile.

"You're a dirty girl, aren't you?" he says, running his free hand down her arm.

_What are you doing?! You aren't serious, are you?_ Fred demands, more than a little panicked. _I thought I established firm boundaries for this sort of thing, Illyria!_

_Harmless flirting,_ Illyria replies nonchalantly, moving their arms up to drape around Frat-boy's neck as he whispers vulgar things in their ear, his hand roaming around their body.

_This is not just "harmless flirting"! It's gross! And what about the part where he is a VAMPIRE?!_ Fred's voice in their head is shrill. She gags slightly at the disgusting things he is saying. _Uhg! That's just not right._

_I agree, what he is suggesting does not seem physically possible given the configuration of joints in your species,_ Illyria states. Outwardly, it laughs drunkenly and playfully swats the vampire's hand away.

_Regardless,_ it continues, _I have a plan._

_You have a plan?_ Fred asks, skeptical.

_Of course I do,_ Illyria replies loftily. _I would never permit anyone to treat us this way without a plan to crush them. Do you trust me?_

Fred hesitates for only a second. _Yes_.

"Lets have a little fun!" Illyria says with a wicked grin.

* * *

From his seat at the back of the room, Wesley watches as the college boy leans in to the sophisticated blonde, whispering something in her ear that causes her to blush. At her nod, he takes her hand leading her away from the bar towards the back door. Wesley frowns, something about the situation bothering him. He takes another sip of his drink, his eyes not leaving the pair. As they exit through the back door, the woman now leading the way, he catches the young man's eyes dart down to look at her neck, his expression hungry and predatory, more like a wild animal than a horny college student. With a start Wesley realizes what's wrong.

Vampire.

Without a second thought he is out of his seat and hurrying to follow them. He slips out into the alleyway, his eyes darting around in search of the couple, but there's nobody in sight. He takes a few steps forward and blinks, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. The light from a distant street lamp casts long shadows of the dumpsters and piles of garbage that are the only thing in sight. Maybe he was wrong about the vampire, he thinks, or maybe he's already too late. The adrenaline from his quick dash out the door has faded and he stumbles, the alcohol in his system taking its place. It has started to rain, and his clothes are quickly becoming soaked through. Just as he is about to go back inside, a noise from around a corner in the alley catches his attention.

He considers ignoring it. It could be just a cat or a raccoon, and what good would he possibly be anyways in his inebriated state? But his conscience gets the better of him, and he staggers towards the source of the noise.

He rounds the corner just in time to see the vampire stagger out from behind a dumpster, his face bloodied from multiple blows and a large piece of splintered wood protruding from his chest. He stares at it in shock for a moment, then, with a scream, explodes into a cloud of dust.

Over the sound of the rain splashing to the pavement, Wesley hears a woman's heavy breathing coming from the other side of the dumpster. Worried she may have been injured in the encounter, and wanting to congratulate her on taking down the vampire, he hurries over. But as she comes into view he skids to a stop, jerking backwards in shock and slamming into the brick wall of the building.

There, crouched on the ground, naked but otherwise unhurt, is Fred.

"Fred?" he says, his voiced filled with grief and the smallest amount of hope. She looks up at him, the beautiful eyes he knows so well filled with fear and uncertainty. Tears well up in his eyes, blurring his vision.

"How-?" he starts to ask, but is interrupted by the loud rev of an engine down the street. His head turns reflexively towards the source of the sound, and when he looks back it's no longer Fred standing before him, but the blonde woman from the bar. His face crumples in pain, and he shakes his head, trying to clear the fog of alcohol from his mind.

"I'm sorry. So sorry," he mumbles staring at the ground, no longer able to meet her eyes. "I thought- you look just like-" His voice breaks and he chokes back a sob.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers past the lump in his throat, and turning away he stumbles out of the alley and disappears into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the reposted chapters. Any updates from this point on will be done at the same time as on FF.net


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